


Amendment

by smilebackwards



Series: Mission Reports [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Communication Failure, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Qui-Gon Jinn Lives, Self-Esteem Issues, my self-indulgent obi-wan feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 12:47:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22396348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilebackwards/pseuds/smilebackwards
Summary: Qui-Gon had never spared much thought for the reports Obi-Wan wrote up for their missions over the years, save for vague feelings of fondness for Obi-Wan’s unflagging dedication and gratitude that the archivists no longer bothered him about them. What point would there have been in reading over the bare, prosaic facts when he’d been there in person? Now, looking at Obi-Wan’s self-deprecation set down in plain black and white, Qui-Gon rather thought that might have been a mistake.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: Mission Reports [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1600705
Comments: 120
Kudos: 1162





	Amendment

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to dedicate this to outpastthemoat who commented like a dozen times on Mission Report and kept this sequel alive in my heart! Also many thanks to zxullymaxwell whose idea it was for Qui-Gon to go back and read the reports. ♥

Qui-Gon wouldn’t precisely have called the new negotiations with Karris IV an unmitigated success, but he was prepared to qualify them as _a_ success. And it had been all down to Obi-Wan. 

Qui-Gon felt a warm glow of pride in his chest. After he and Obi-Wan had located the secret hideaways of the four factions, been shot at by high-powered blasters that the Karrisians had demonstrably _not_ owned during Qui-Gon’s last visit, and corralled everyone, grumbling and with ill grace—that Qui-Gon remembered—to the Council Hall, Obi-Wan had laid out a well-formed compromise and then allowed all four sides to yell each other hoarse for hours until they all eventually agreed on the original proposal.

Qui-Gon put a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Truly miraculous, my Padawan,” he said. “You realize it took me over two weeks to achieve this end during my previous mission?”

“How might I have known that, Master?” Obi-Wan said, with mock curiosity. “Was it recorded in your mission report?”

Qui-Gon pressed a hand over his heart. “You too, Obi-Wan? Have Mace and the archivists recruited you to malign me into submitting reports?”

“A good mission report is important,” Obi-Wan said, virtuously. “How else would Master Windu know that you heroically rescued those three Loth-cats from a tree?” 

Qui-Gon could see, beneath Obi-Wan’s smile, that he meant it in earnest. Perhaps it would behoove Qui-Gon to make a change. A paragraph or two couldn’t be too terribly time-consuming. Obi-Wan’s smile would be worth it. Not to mention Mace’s shock.

“Speaking of,” Obi-Wan said, “I ought to be taking down some notes but I believe I left my journal on the ship.”

“We’re due for our check in with the Council,” Qui-Gon said. “I’ll make the holocall from the ship and bring your rucksack back with me.” The signal would be better from the ship and it wouldn’t do for the primary negotiator to step away before the ink on the peace agreement had even dried. 

“Thank you, Master,” Obi-Wan said, quiet. He looked up at Qui-Gon, blue eyes luminous. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Qui-Gon swallowed thickly. Such a change from only a few days before, when Obi-Wan had categorically insisted that Qui-Gon not come to Karris IV, his presence somehow worse than the blaster shots ricocheting around Obi-Wan’s head. 

Qui-Gon put his hand behind the base of Obi-Wan’s skull, thumb over the place his Padawan brain had once hung. “I’m glad to be here.”

-

“This is welcome news, Qui-Gon,” Mace said, pleased, when Qui-Gon reported the peace treaty signed.

“I had little to do with it,” Qui-Gon said. “I’ll pass your congratulations on to Obi-Wan.”

“I’m sure he’ll have much more to say about your help in his mission report.” Something in Mace’s expression seemed to falter as he added, “Perhaps you should read this one.”

Qui-Gon frowned. Had it only been a glitch in the holoprojection? “Perhaps I will.”

“May the Force be with you, my friend,” Mace said, and ended the call.

Qui-Gon picked up Obi-Wan’s rucksack and smiled. As always, it was hopelessly overstuffed. Obi-Wan’s tendency toward foresight most often manifested in his strange knowledge of odds and ends that would come in handy in the future. The future, however, was rather loose on timelines. Obi-Wan had once carried a canister of Thyrellian pepper for three years before they’d used it on a mission to stymie a pack of boarhounds tracking them and their royal charge.

As Qui-Gon swung the bag over his shoulder, something dislodged and thudded softly against the durasteel floor. Qui-Gon knelt and picked up Obi-Wan’s battered Jedi-issue journal, a marked contrast to a pristine twin Qui-Gon kept at the bottom of a drawer and occasionally resurfaced to press samples of flowers and leaves. It had fallen face downward, open to where Obi-Wan had left his page marker.

Qui-Gon picked it up and carefully smoothed the page.

The previous day’s date in galactic standard was printed at the top right corner in Obi-Wan’s neat copperplate. _Karris IV,_ Obi-Wan had written, where the ruled lines began. _Have proven myself so incapable that Master Qui-Gon is coming to recall me back to the Temple._

Qui-Gon snapped the book closed in shocked shame. Those words hadn’t been his to read. Obi-Wan would never have meant to put that dagger through his heart. And surely Qui-Gon had clarified his reasons for coming, his reasons for many things, to the point where Obi-Wan would erase such inaccurate self-deprecation.

Mace’s words echoed strangely through Qui-Gon’s mind. _Perhaps you should read this one._

Yes, Qui-Gon thought, tucking the journal safely back into the rucksack. When Obi-Wan completed his final mission report, this time Qui-Gon would be the first.

-

Mace was waiting on the landing pad when they arrived back to the Temple from Karris IV. “Knight Kenobi,” he said. “I regret that I have yet another urgent mission for you. I realize you haven’t had proper downtime in the Temple in several weeks.”

Qui-Gon opened his mouth to protest on Obi-Wan’s behalf—there were other negotiators, efficient enough if perhaps less skilled—but Obi-Wan raised a hand and bowed to Mace with proper Jedi humility. “Of course, Master Windu. You honor me with your trust.”

Mace gave Qui-Gon a quick, sideways look, easily translatable after decades of friendship. _How did_ you _manage to produce_ this _?_

“Bestine and Tomo-Reth were on the verge of re-signing a hundred year treaty but there’s been some form of ill-defined crisis and now they’re both clamoring for a Jedi to come sort things out before the centennial is over,” Mace said, handing Obi-Wan a new mission pack and a datapad.

Qui-Gon reached out to intercept the pack. “There are only enough supplies for one.”

Mace gave him a flat look. “That’s because only Knight Kenobi is going.”

“Mace!” Qui-Gon protested. “You saw what just happened on Karris IV. You shouldn’t be sending Obi-Wan on missions without backup.” 

Mace’s eyes narrowed and he tipped his head towards Obi-Wan. When Qui-Gon glanced over at him, Obi-Wan was turned aside, a pained look on his face. 

Qui-Gon replayed his words and winced. Must he always be so strangely clumsy when it came to Obi-Wan? He’d meant only that he didn’t appreciate Obi-Wan being thrown into danger, alone, where he might be hurt. But clearly Obi-Wan took the Council’s allowance of such an irregularity for trust in his abilities and Qui-Gon’s protestations for the reverse. “You shouldn’t be sending any Knights on such dangerous missions with no partner,” Qui-Gon amended, hoping it was enough. 

“You, Qui-Gon,” Mace said, “are medically barred from back to back mission assignments.”

Wonderful, Qui-Gon thought, sarcastically. Another thank you he owed to the Sith from Naboo.

“I’ll be perfectly all right, Master,” Obi-Wan said. His face, so soft and open to Qui-Gon over the past day, had gone wooden again.

Qui-Gon transferred the mission pack to Obi-Wan’s shoulder and put his hand to Obi-Wan’s cheek. “I know,” he said. “I have every faith in you, Obi-Wan. Indulge your old Master in his overprotective streak.”

Obi-Wan smiled, his eyes warming slightly, but Qui-Gon could see now that one conversation wouldn’t right all the mistakes he’d made during their partnership. Qui-Gon would need to be steady and consistent in his assurances of pride.

“I’ll comm you every day,” Obi-Wan said.

“See that you do, young one,” Qui-Gon said, trying to smile back. It would have to be enough. It would have to be enough forever now. Obi-Wan wasn’t Qui-Gon’s Padawan anymore. He would be called away from the Temple often, leaving Qui-Gon behind. That was the way of things, however hard.

Qui-Gon stepped off the shuttle ramp and watched it retract back into the ship, swallowing Obi-Wan from sight.

-

“I’m sorry,” Mace said as Obi-Wan’s shuttle faded into the black of space. “We really do need him for this. He’s the best of the Diplomatic Corp.” He smiled, sardonic. “You trained him too well.”

Qui-Gon thought of all the nights Obi-Wan had fallen asleep, fitful, on the couch, surrounded by books and datapads, exhausted in his anxiety to achieve excellence. They hadn’t all been lessons he’d meant to teach.

There was a chime from the datapad in Mace’s hand and he swiped a finger across the screen. “The mission report for Karris IV,” Mace said. “I’m sure it will be enjoyable reading as always.”

Qui-Gon thought of the blaster wound on Obi-Wan’s wrist. He wondered if Obi-Wan had included it for thoroughness or skimmed over it as unimportant. Qui-Gon looked at his own datapad, seeing no such notification. So much for his resolve to be the first to read it. “May I see it after the Council completes their review?”

Mace frowned. “You can read it now if you like. We don’t embargo mission reports unless they’re marked for sensitivity. Obi-Wan didn’t do so for Karris IV.”

Qui-Gon hadn’t even known there were categories for sensitivity. He handed Mace his datapad. “How do I locate it?”

“Qui-Gon,” Mace said calmly, “please don’t tell me that you don’t know how to use the reports database.”

Qui-Gon employed the time honored diplomatic strategy of saying nothing. 

A major upgrade had been rolled out to the database a decade past, right around when Obi-Wan had become Qui-Gon’s Padawan. Qui-Gon had never bothered much with it. Obi-Wan had handled all their mission prep and after action documentation requirements all through his apprenticeship. Qui-Gon remembered being pleased about it. 

Mace closed his eyes. “I recommend you make an appointment with Archives.”

-

“You have an account,” Padawan Kyte said, which was news to Qui-Gon. “It shows as having been last used two years ago.”

Two years ago. That was when Obi-Wan had been Knighted. He’d have received his own credentials. Anything he’d been using in Qui-Gon’s stead would probably have gone inactive.

“I was in the Healing Ward around that time,” Qui-Gon said, which wasn’t untrue. “I’m afraid I don’t remember the account information.”

“That’s all right,” Kyte said cheerfully. “It happens all the time with older Masters.” She paused, pointed ears flattening against her head in embarrassment. “I— Not that _you’re_ old, Master Jinn. I just meant in general.”

Qui-Gon smiled at her, feeling positively ancient. “It’s quite all right, Padawan.”

She tapped the keypad three times, faster than Qui-Gon could follow. “You can just set your passcode again here and you’ll be reinstated.”

Qui-Gon keyed in Obi-Wan’s birthday and Kyte hit another button. “There, you’re all set!” She looked at him with kind eyes. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“I’m looking for a recent mission report,” Qui-Gon said. “Written by Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“Oh, yes, he’s very popular,” Kyte said. “If you just come up here to Author and type in his name, it will list everything in reverse chronological order.”

“Thank you very much for your assistance, Padawan Kyte,” Qui-Gon said, trying to absorb the fact that Obi-Wan apparently had some level of fame in the archives, as he watched the listing generate. “You’re a credit to your Master.”

Kyte flushed and bowed. “Thank you, Master Jinn.” 

Qui-Gon stared at the completed listing: 

Obi-Wan Kenobi (62)  
Mission Report: Karris IV (Kenobi-Jinn 969 ARR)  
Mission Report: Rodia (Kenobi 968 ARR)  
Mission Report: Diartmun (Kenobi 968 ARR)  
Mission Report: Kashyyyk (Kenobi 968 ARR)  
Mission Report: Amarth (Kenobi 968 ARR)  
Mission Report: Xha’ra (Kenobi 968 ARR)  
Knighting Certification [Signatory] (Jedi Council 967 ARR)  
Mission Report: Naboo (Jinn-Kenobi 967 ARR)

He had to swipe the screen twice to reach the end.

Qui-Gon removed Obi-Wan from the Author field and typed in his own name.

Qui-Gon Jinn (54) it listed, although Qui-Gon hadn’t submitted a mission report in over twenty years. He skimmed the list. Jinn-Kenobi. Jinn-Kenobi. Jinn-Kenobi.

There were five reports from as far back as 930, labelled solely Jinn. One of them was Qui-Gon’s previous Karris IV report. He opened it on the pad. It was an imaged copy of his handwritten note: _Someone else can have this job next time._

At the bottom, it had been linked to Obi-Wan’s new report: Karris IV (Kenobi-Jinn 969 ARR). Qui-Gon hardly felt that he deserved to be listed as a mission partner but he was glad to see that Obi-Wan had appropriately noted himself as the primary. Qui-Gon opened the report.

_Karris IV is a beautiful planet. Bring sunsblock, your lightsaber, and enough bacta gel for at least three glancing blaster shots._

Qui-Gon breathed a sigh of relief. At least it wasn’t _Have proven myself so incapable that Master Qui-Gon is coming to recall me back to the Temple._

Qui-Gon quickly read through the rest, wincing and chuckling and feeling as immersed as if he’d been there for the entirety of the mission and not just the final stroke. Obi-Wan, as Mace had predicted, had made far too much of any minor assistance Qui-Gon had provided. He’d also, as Qui-Gon had predicted, made far too light of his injury for Qui-Gon’s peace of mind. Qui-Gon should have made sure he used another layer of bacta gel on his wrist before he’d gone haring off on another mission for the Council. He’d remind Obi-Wan tonight. When he commed.

Overall, it wasn’t so dire as Qui-Gon had feared. But was is the full truth? Or simply the sanitized version Obi-Wan was comfortable presenting to the world?

There was a time when Obi-Wan had not been so practiced at obfuscation. A time when he’d been thought too angry, too unremarkable to be a Jedi Knight. Qui-Gon ached to think of it now, his callousness in rejecting tiny, young Obi-Wan, whose only desire had been to help others. What the Jedi might have lost. What _Qui-Gon_ might have lost.

Qui-Gon clicked Obi-Wan’s name to return him to his Author page and started from the bottom, their very first mission together: Kuat (Jinn-Kenobi 956 ARR)

Qui-Gon had never spared much thought for the reports Obi-Wan wrote up for their missions over the years, save for vague feelings of fondness for Obi-Wan’s unflagging dedication and gratitude that the archivists no longer bothered him about them. What point would there have been in reading over the bare, prosaic facts when he’d been there in person? Now, looking at Obi-Wan’s self-deprecation set down in plain black and white, Qui-Gon rather thought that might have been a mistake.

 _Padawan Kenobi needs to be far more mindful of the Living Force. He would benefit from learning the Serenity Meditation,_ Obi-Wan had written. _He should also read Master Nihn’s works on metaphysics,_ it went on. 

There were details about the contracts they’d been sent to help negotiate but it was almost more a to do list for his self improvement than a mission report. Qui-Gon couldn’t remember the things he’d said that would have inspired such thinking, but he remembered how, after the mission, Obi-Wan had checked out half a dozen thick tomes of philosophy that would have staggered the most studious Senior Padawan.

Qui-Gon continued reading through the database with an increasing sense of despair.

 _Padawan Kenobi’s saberwork, while adequate for defense, would have been unnecessary had he noted the evidence of smugglers in the region and recommended an adjustment to the navigation course,_ Obi-Wan had written at fifteen, after a mission where he’d held off a band of pirates from encroaching on a downed embassy starship. 

Qui-Gon had been able to see Obi-Wan, lightsaber a blur of perfect movement, through his hazy vision from the corner of the landing ramp where Obi-Wan had propped him after splinting his broken leg. The pirates had stopped wasting their blaster shots after two hours of perfect deflection. Qui-Gon had given Obi-Wan his yellow weapons mastery bead for it. Reading the report, all Obi-Wan appeared to have given himself for it was censure.

At sixteen, on Raxus Prime, _Despite Padawan Kenobi’s missteps at the Ceremony of Giving, Master Jinn was able to secure a lasting settlement to the dispute._

At seventeen, on Corellia, _A great amount of trouble might have been avoided had Padawan Kenobi not confused the words doaba (Basic translation: peace) and droyk (Basic translation: an expletive)._

Obi-Wan had held his own flaws—real and imagined—under a magnifying glass, while excusing and sweeping Qui-Gon’s under the rug.

There was a log at the front showing how many times each report had been checked out of the archives and by whom. Qui-Gon looked quickly back through the reports. Various long-standing members of the Council were repeated time and again: Mace, Yoda, Plo Koon, Ki-Adi-Mundi. 

Qui-Gon was surprised he’d avoided a multitude of sharp whacks from Master Yoda’s gimmer stick, or a somber, course-correcting chat with Mace. But then, it had been Qui-Gon’s responsibility as a Master to recognize and remedy his faults, not theirs.

Master Tholme was also a staple. Tholme had been Master to the high-spirited Quinlan Vos, one of Obi-Wan’s agemates and favored companions. Qui-Gon remembered the man had often looked fully prepared to plunge his lightsaber through Qui-Gon’s face for all that their interactions had usually been limited to bare hellos and goodbyes as they extracted their Padawans from each other’s quarters.

Qui-Gon felt a terrible swooping sensation in the realm of his ribcage as he read another of Obi-Wan’s notations— _The Kryat Dragon kata could have been used to great benefit. Padawan Kenobi will practice until he can sustain the pattern for three hours_ —and recollected an old conversation.

“Will Obi-Wan still be allowed to attend the Lantern Festival with Quinlan and I tomorrow?” Tholme had asked, rather abruptly.

“Of course,” Qui-Gon said. They’d discussed it weeks ago, before his and Obi-Wan’s mission to Corellia. “Provided he finishes his homework.”

“Three hours of the Kryat Dragon kata, was it?” Tholme said, dark eyes flashing. 

Qui-Gon had stared at him, uncomprehending. The Kryat Dragon kata was extremely demanding, both physically and mentally. He’d only taught it to Obi-Wan last week. He certainly wasn’t going to ask him to practice it for three hours. Obi-Wan would end up in the Healing Ward.

Tholme shook his head. “Come on, Quinlan,” he’d said, and walked away down the corridor with a protective hand on his Padawan’s shoulder.

Qui-Gon closed the datapad with shaking hands. 

-

“This is my mandated daily check in,” Obi-Wan said, his voice smiling, when he commed Qui-Gon in the evening.

Qui-Gon felt a sharp ache in his throat. He wished he could see Obi-Wan, even in projection, but few private quarters warranted holo-equipment. Qui-Gon would need to look into booking a room in the Communications Hall for future. “Obi-Wan,” he said. “Thank you for calling.”

“It’s no trouble,” Obi-Wan said, although Qui-Gon knew he’d say the same even if it had caused him trouble. “How was your day?”

Qui-Gon hadn’t quite determined how he might tell Obi-Wan that he’d been reading through his entire oeuvre in a way that would prevent Obi-Wan from keeling over in mortification.

“Are you all right, Master?” Obi-Wan asked, after Qui-Gon had been silent a beat too long.

“Of course,” Qui-Gon said. “It’s you I’m worried about. Don’t forget to put more bacta on your wrist.”

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan said, sounding strangely surprised. As if the idea that Qui-Gon might worry about him was utterly foreign.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes. “Have you arrived safely to Bestine?”

“I have,” Obi-Wan confirmed. “And I’m expected at a banquet within the hour, unfortunately.”

At least he’d be fed, Qui-Gon thought. Obi-Wan had skipped meals far too often as a Padawan but he’d always been unfailingly polite in eating what was put in front of him. “I won’t keep you, then,” Qui-Gon said. “You’ll comm me again tomorrow?”

“If you’d like,” Obi-Wan said, quiet.

“I would,” Qui-Gon said. “I’d always like to speak with you. Good night, Obi-Wan.”

“Good night, Master,” Obi-Wan said, his voice barely a whisper, and closed the call. 

The room was dark and quiet, empty even of Obi-Wan’s voice. Qui-Gon opened his datapad again, skipping ahead through the reports. Their relationship had improved by leaps and bounds each year. Surely that would be reflected. Surely Obi-Wan had acknowledged, at least sometimes, how exceptional he was, how proud he must have known Qui-Gon was of him.

 _Another day, another dismal failure by yours truly. I’m sure my Master despairs of me ever attaining Knighthood at this rate._

Qui-Gon closed his eyes in pain. Obi-Wan had had to be taken to the Healers immediately upon return from the mission to Mimban. Being dosed with high threshold painkillers was the only way Qui-Gon could imagine he’d not only committed that thought to writing, but mistakenly included it in a final report.

Qui-Gon kept reading, report after report. It was the only kind of penance he could think to perform.

The mission report for Callum X had a truly lengthy and unusual list of patrons. Qui-Gon wondered if the database had a glitch. Some of the people listed as having viewed it weren’t even members of the Order. What use Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan might have had for a report about a petty royal drama played out on a Mid Rim planet over a decade ago, Qui-Gon couldn’t fathom. 

And yet he found himself reading it deep into the night, unaccountably fascinated by the way Obi-Wan had spun it into a tale:

_There was a lightning storm over the northern ocean when Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn and Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi arrived on Callum X._

_“Inauspicious,” King Laval said, sneering down from an onyx throne._

Yes, _Padawan Kenobi thought, smiling politely._ Entirely inauspicious for the king regent of a matriarchal society that Jedi had been requested to untangle the succession. 

_From the snippets of intelligence, sent by stealth courier, it promised to be quite thrilling: the heir presumptive, a second princess hidden away at birth, and a long revered prophecy that pointed to a young girl in the outlying villages..._

-

Qui-Gon hadn’t fallen asleep until third chime, enthralled by Obi-Wan’s dramatic re-telling of their mission to Callum X, which was still ruled by a strong queen triad to this day, helped along by Obi-Wan’s diplomacy and dimples.

Qui-Gon carried his datapad to breakfast in the commissary and continued skimming through reports while munching on kiko fruit. 

Mission Report: Naboo (Jinn-Kenobi 967 ARR)

Qui-Gon swallowed, the fruit suddenly seeming to stick in his throat. Naboo perhaps he should read in private, but he didn’t relish doing so in his cold, empty quarters. One of the study rooms would be a fine compromise, Qui-Gon thought, bussing his tray and beginning the walk to the Archives.

Master Nu looked at him suspiciously when he requested access to one of the rooms but she let him pass. In the dim light, surrounded by the calming smell of old flimsi books, Qui-Gon opened the datapad.

Much had happened on Naboo. Obi-Wan had defeated a Sith warrior not seen for a thousand years, little more than a storybook monster to most of the Order. He’d kept Qui-Gon alive with Force technique that Qui-Gon’s healers had commented on in amazement time and again during his recovery. He’d been Knighted for it, for Force’s sake. Surely here Obi-Wan would let himself shine in print as brightly as he did in person.

Qui-Gon read through their audience with the Gungans, meeting Anakin and Shmi, the thrill of the podrace and the daring return to Theed, nodding along. Yes, this was— 

_Padawan Kenobi failed to block a strike from the Sith and fell behind as Master Jinn pursued the Sith in the reactor core,_ Obi-Wan had written, the tone suddenly flat and dispassionate. _Due to Kenobi’s costly delay, Master Jinn was left to battle the Sith alone for a period of several minutes, during which the Sith gained the upper hand. His red blade pierced Master Jinn’s torso, collapsing his left lung and scraping his heart..._

That, Qui-Gon could not allow to remain on record. 

He strode quickly to the circulation desk and held out the datapad. “I need to make an amendment to this report.”

“Mission reports cannot be edited by outside parties,” Master Nu said firmly, looking offended that Qui-Gon had even asked. “We maintain the full integrity of our source material in the Jedi Archives.”

“I’m not an outside party,” Qui-Gon said, clinging to serenity. “I was on the mission.”

Master Nu blinked down at the datapad where it listed Qui-Gon, damningly, as a primary author. “You want to edit your own mission report?”

“Well, I didn’t write it per se.” Seeing Master Nu’s expression harden, he quickly backpedalled. “Yes, I need to edit my mission report.” He couldn’t say ‘my Padawan made a mistake’. That would put the blame on Obi-Wan. And it was Qui-Gon’s mistake, twice over now.

Master Nu squinted at the screen. “This report is from two years ago. Documents are locked to editing after a period of nine months. To unlock it, you’ll need special approval from the Council.”

“Very well,” Qui-Gon said. 

-

“ _You_ want to write a mission report,” Mace said, with deep skepticism.

Qui-Gon remained dignified. “I need to make an amendment.”

“To what?” Mace asked.

“Obi-Wan’s mission report for Naboo,” Qui-Gon said. Mace had certainly read it. His name had been listed in the log multiple times.

Mace’s lips flattened. “Yes, that was a...difficult read. I spoke with him about it after but he insisted it was entirely factual and that he didn’t intend to revise anything.”

“The facts regarding the Trade Federation’s coup are perfectly accurate,” Qui-Gon acknowledged. “It’s only the lens of Obi-Wan’s self-flagellating point of view that I take issue with. I don’t understand how he could possibly believe that my foolhardy mistake to allow the Sith to cut him off from me in the reactor room and get myself stabbed through the chest was somehow a mistake on his part.”

Mace put a conciliatory hand on his shoulder. “You were his Master, Qui-Gon. He always saw everything you did as beyond reproach.”

Qui-Gon laughed, bitter and pained and sharp. “I made him watch me reach the brink of death, fight a Sith on his own, and somehow the worst part is that he’ll never even think to blame me for it.”

Mace squeezed his shoulder and said nothing.

“I want to sign his Knighting certificate too,” Qui-Gon added. Mace’s signature held the place that would traditionally have belonged to Qui-Gon if he hadn’t been comatose in the Healing Ward, if they’d only waited for him to wake up. Qui-Gon would have said the ritual words, cut Obi-Wan’s braid and kissed his forehead, and Obi-Wan would have known that he was the pride of Qui-Gon’s whole Force-forsaken life and not the millstone he seemed to imagine himself as. 

“Good,” Mace said. “For two of our best diplomats, you seem to suffer from a great deal of miscommunication.” He signed his authorization to the official Document Amendment form that Master Nu had furnished Qui-Gon with, clearly never expecting to receive it back.

“Speaking of documentation,” Qui-Gon said, suspiciously, thinking back on the report logs, “why have you viewed the report for Obi-Wan and my mission to Illarya fourteen times?” 

Mace smiled involuntarily and then quickly tried to hide it. He coughed into his fist. “Illarya?” he asked innocently. “Did something of significance happen there?”

The only thing of significance that had happened on Illarya was Qui-Gon being chased through the jungle undergrowth by an enraged mother cliamut while his traitorous apprentice laughed so hard he’d had to hold himself up against a tree. _Master Qui-Gon’s affinity for beasts of all kinds is truly awe-inspiring,_ Obi-Wan had written of it, the cheeky brat.

A storm had been brewing. Qui-Gon had only been checking that the cliamut’s clutch of eggs had been well protected from the elements. 

Clearly he should have been paying better attention to his own charge rather than every other being that crossed his path. “Pathetic lifeforms” Obi-Wan would have called them. Whenever he said it Obi-Wan had always smiled but there had been something strangely hollow beneath it. 

When Obi-Wan commed that evening, full of jubilance about the success that Qui-Gon had never doubted he would achieve, Qui-Gon had cause to be grateful that Obi-Wan couldn’t see him by holoprojector. He would only have been alarmed by the tears that tracked silently down Qui-Gon’s face.

-

The door chime rang outside Qui-Gon’s quarters the next evening at half seven. “Obi-Wan!” he said, when he palmed open the door. Thank Force Mace had let him get past the landing pad this time.

“Master,” Obi-Wan said, his blue eyes bright and direct. “Why did you update the mission report for Naboo?”

“You— You saw that already, did you?” Qui-Gon asked, stepping back to let Obi-Wan across the threshold. He’d submitted his amendment during the afternoon.

He’d had a whole plan for discussing it with Obi-Wan. They’d have dinner and talk about his mission to Bestine and, later, casually, Qui-Gon would slip in how excruciatingly sorry he was for all the agony he’d caused Obi-Wan over the years and how he’d amended the Naboo report to reflect the truth of the matter that Obi-Wan had been far too kind to convey.

“I received an alert that two of my archived documents had been edited,” Obi-Wan said.

“I didn’t know they did that.”

Obi-Wan gave him a dry look. “Yes, Qui-Gon, I realize you have no concept of how the Archives work.” 

Qui-Gon rather felt that he’d failed to grasp the central concepts of quite a lot of things that he’d once believed himself well-versed in. “I’ve started to learn,” Qui-Gon said. “I read your report about Naboo. I read quite a lot of your reports. Many of the events resonated differently from how I remember them.”

“I assure you they were quite fresh in my mind when I wrote them,” Obi-Wan said. His eyes were sad. “You don’t need to shield me from my failures.”

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said, pained. “In all our years together, the only thing I ever saw you fail was your Galactic History final.” And that had been because Obi-Wan vehemently disagreed with the instructor on the underlying motivations of the Carthian Rebellion. One of his author attributions, sandwiched in among the mission reports, was an impassioned and meticulously cited forty page essay Qui-Gon hadn’t even realized he’d written, now apparently considered a scholarly resource that had dozens of Padawan’s names listed in the view log.

“Master Ithan didn’t take into account the cultural implications of the pre-annexation civil war,” Obi-Wan snapped, clearly still irritated about it.

Qui-Gon laughed and pulled Obi-Wan forward into a hug. “Oh, Obi-Wan. You are a gift and a joy.”

Obi-Wan went limp in his arms. “Thank you, Master,” he said, hesitant.

Qui-Gon waited for Obi-Wan to pull away first, then he said, “Come, sit down. I’ll make tea. There are many things we should talk about.”


End file.
